The Patron Saint of Lost Causes
by sleepyvalentina
Summary: When Carlisle decided to look for a roommate, it was nothing more than a means to an end. Then he met Izzy. Part of the "Fall to Ruin One Day" universe.
1. Closing Time

I wrote this for the Fandom4LLS compilation. Though I have no immediate plans to make this a full-length story, I may add to it now and then.

**Thanks to Regina and Josh for beta-ing. **

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><p><strong>The Patron Saint of Lost Causes<strong>

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><p><strong><em>M seeks responsible roommate to share 2 bedroom apt in Wrigleyville. NS, no pets, M or F ok._**

**_$500/month plus utilities. Avail. immed. Call Carlisle 555-0308._**

**-o-O-o-**

My life has come to this. At an age when most of my friends are finally starting to make enough money to live alone, I'm advertising for a roommate. I tell myself it's a temporary step backward, that once I have enough in the bank to open my own restaurant I'll be able to justify the expense of having my place to myself again, that sharing space with someone won't be as bad as I think. Then again, that's not saying much.

It's not that I'm anti-social. As sous-chef for Chicago's current It-restaurant, I'm surrounded by people who work hard and play harder. Of course, there are perks to my profession. I learned in culinary school this hand washes the other, and experience tells me this is true. The right table for the right patron will grant me access to even the most exclusive parties and clubs, but I've seen enough of the scene to know that as much as I enjoy it, I like how quiet my apartment is just as much.

At least, I liked how quiet my apartment _was_. Then my phone started ringing off the hook with annoying questions regarding my classified ad. When it rings for what is probably the tenth time this hour, I figure I'm in for more of the same.

"Hello?"

After a pause, a female voice mutters, "Pre-cum leaking ass munch."

"Uh, wow. This is by far the most creative crank call I've ever gotten. Just for that, I won't *69 you."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I mean...I thought I'd get a machine or something. I've been making phone calls about apartments for an hour now, and this is the first I've gotten a live person. Anyway, now that I've ruined any chance I may have had to discuss coming to see your apartment, I'll let you go–"

"You haven't ruined your chances. If anything, you've given me the best laugh I've had all week. So about the apartment..." I pause when I realize she hasn't told me her name. "I'm Carlisle, by the way."

"I'm Isabella."

"When would you like to come take a look at it? I imagine you'd want to bring a friend with you, to be safe."

"That's not really possible. I'm new in town and don't know anyone yet. Would you be terribly inconvenienced if I asked you to meet me for coffee first? Just to make sure you're not an axe murderer or something. I mean, I'm sure you're not. It's just–"

"That's fine; I understand. There's a Starbucks around the corner from me. We can meet there."

"Perfect," she says. "Are you free an hour from now?"

Once at Starbucks, I scan the tables. On the phone earlier, Isabella described herself as "a nondescript brunette". There's a brown-haired girl sitting by the window, but she's too pretty to possibly refer to herself as "nondescript". Then I notice her foot twitching violently under the table. Given how nervous she seemed when she called me, I'm thinking this is her.

I walk over to her. "Isabella? Hello, I'm Carlisle."

She falls off her stool. For a second, she has a look of amazement on her face, like she's surprised she landed on her feet.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," she says, extending her hand to me.

Not wanting her to think I'm checking out her tits, I keep my eyes glued to her face while we shake hands.

"What will it be?" She angles her head toward the counter. "My treat."

"You don't have to buy me coffee."

"You didn't have to meet me in public."

"Thank you. In that case, I'll have an espresso."

"Just give me a sec," she says.

She turns her back to me as she hurries off to order. No longer hindered by the need to maintain eye-contact, I lower my eyes and check out her ass. It's as nice as her smile.

A few minutes later, she slides back onto her stool. "I'm glad you were okay with meeting me here before looking at your apartment. I mean, I know if I move in I'll be alone with you all the time. It's just I've never been out on my own before and—"

"It's okay."

"No, it's kind of a pain in the ass—that's why I appreciate it so much." She pauses, taking a sip of her coffee. "Anyway, it's not like I'm paranoid or anything, but my dad is a cop, and for as long as I can remember, I've been told never to go anywhere with strange men—not that I think I you're strange. I mean, in the ten minutes I've known you, several adjectives have gone through my head, but strange isn't one of them. Handsome and charming have, but then again, they're equally applicable to the average serial killer."

It takes everything in me not to laugh. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"Fuck." She closes her eyes and sighs. "I can't believe I just did that."

"Likened me to a serial killer?"

"No—that I said you were charming. Not that you aren't, but I'm kind of surprised I noticed—not that there's anything wrong with noticing guys. It's totally normal, right?"

"I wouldn't know." I shrug my shoulders. "I'm not into guys."

"Me neither."

All of a sudden, I don't care how much she parties. If she brings girls home and lets me watch, she can live in my apartment rent-free.

"So do you have a girlfriend?" I ask.

"What? No. I didn't mean it that way—not that there's anything wrong with that." She laughs when I recite the famous line from Seinfeld with her

Then I realize if she's not a lesbian and she's not used to noticing guys, it can only mean one thing. If she were my girlfriend, I wouldn't be okay with her shacking up with some random dude in a city where she knows no one. And if he's the jealous type, I could be setting myself up for drama.

"In all seriousness, Isabella–"

"Izzy."

"Izzy," I repeat. "Is your boyfriend okay with the idea of you having a male roommate?"

"I don't have one. Honestly, I almost feel safer living with a guy, strange as it sounds. So what about you?"

"Anyone I'd go out with wouldn't care."

"No, I meant I wanted to know about you in general. I've been babbling about myself so much we've barely talked about you. And we should, you know, before we go back to your place."

"Back to my place?" I smile. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Ha ha. You're funny. You know what I mean."

I raise my hand to my chest, faking heartbreak. "You mean you don't want to see my etchings?"

She doesn't appear amused.

"Sorry," I say.

"No, you're not."

"You're right; I'm not."

"Fine, then I'll go first. I'm twenty-two, and I just moved here from Washington."

"State or D.C.?"

"I grew up in Washington State. I went to college in Washington D.C., where I earned a degree that's useless unless I want to teach, which I don't. I mean, I'm sure it pays more than what I was making as a barista, and it would get everyone off my back about my lack of direction, but I don't think I have the patience for it."

"Then you shouldn't do it. Teaching is a hard job—even for those who love it. It's not fair to students to go into education simply because you can't think of anything else you're qualified to do."

"Right." She leans forward onto the table. "Your turn. What do you do?"

"I'm a teacher."

She looks appalled. "Holy fuck."

"Just kidding," I say, laughing. "I do have a degree in music education, though. When I was right out of college, I taught high school for a year."

"You make it sound like it was a long time ago. You can't be _that_ old."

"I'm twenty-eight. Anyway, the funding for the program was cut, and I took a job waiting tables. It didn't take long for me to realize I was more comfortable in the kitchen than I ever was in a classroom, so I went back to school to learn to cook. Now I'm the sous-chef at Jude's."

"Wow." She picks up a paper napkin and starts shredding it. "I like to cook and, though I'm told I'm good at it, I can't imagine doing it for a living."

"Don't like cooking _that_ much, huh?"

"Oh, I love it. It just never occurred to me I could earn a living at it. Then again, I majored in French. Without going to grad school, I can't make a living at that, either." She brushes the bits of paper across the table, knocking over her coffee in the process. "Shit!" After righting the cup, she mops up the spill with the scraps of her napkin. "I'm not usually this clumsy."

"You're nervous. It's fine; I get it."

She squeezes her eyes shut, sighing. "Is it that obvious?"

"It's okay."

"I feel like such a tool."

I smile, trying to put her at ease. "You said you've never been out on your own. And moving to a city where you don't know anyone is a huge adjustment for anyone."

"That's only part of it. As much as I hope we hit it off and you let me move in, the prospect of living with someone I don't know is scary. I mean, I did it my freshman year of college, but this is different because...well, you have a..._you know_. You know what I mean, right?"

I blink several times in quick succession. "Was that English?"

"Don't make fun of me." She folds her arms across her chest.

"You know, you could have just said it's because I'm a guy."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little on edge here!"

"Sorry," I say.

"So have I made it through the preliminary screening?"

"Yes." I already want her to move in with me, though not because she's an ideal candidate. I like her and think we'll get along well together. That I find her extremely attractive isn't a factor—at least, this is what I tell myself. "However, I _am _concerned that you don't have a job."

"I think any potential landlord would be. I figured I'd have to pay a few months up front as a deposit."

"Would that be a problem?"

"No."

When I look up from my espresso, she's staring at me.

"This is going to sound weird, but you remind me of...never mind." She shakes her head as she places her cup back on the table.

"I'm ready to show you the apartment whenever you are."

"Okay." She stand up and pulls on her coat. "Lead the way."

Twenty minutes later, I have my new roommate.

"When would you like to move in?" I ask.

"Tonight, if that's okay with you."

"That's fine, but aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" She throws up her palms. "It's not like I need to hire movers."

"That's not what I mean." I pull a pen and a piece of paper from the drawer in my kitchen. "You said your dad was a cop, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This is the address here," I say, writing it down. "My legal name is William Carlisle Crawforth, in case he decides he wants to run a background check on me." I tear off the sheet and hand it to her.

"Thank you."

That night, she moves into my apartment with nothing but her purse, the clothes on her back, and a look on her face that says she doesn't want to talk about it. Already, I like her enough to pretend I expected I'd have to provide sheets, towels, and a t-shirt to sleep in to whomever moved in with me. _This_ part is easy. It's when she shuts herself in her room and I have to pretend I don't hear her crying that kills me.


	2. Star Me Kitten

**thanks to LAHollett.**

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><p><strong>Happy Birthday, Caren!<strong>

Months ago, I promised Nerac I'd write Carlisle and Izzy's first time for her birthday. Then real life blew up. Late is better than never.

The first part of this was posted as an outtake in November. I put them together to make it easier to read.

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><p><strong>* Me Kitten<strong>

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><p>My not-so drunken confession regarding my feelings for Izzy hasn't affected our relationship at all. Considering how awkward things could be under the circumstances, I should be relieved—and sometimes I am. Mostly, I think about the letter she slid under my door and how, thanks to her douche of an ex-boyfriend, she feels dead inside. It makes me crazy. I know I could help her, but I also know she'll never let me.<p>

When Monday comes around, she's noticeably jumpy. At first, I pretend not to notice—I've overstepped enough boundaries in the past week where she's concerned. I start dinner the way I always do, but when I look up from the cheese I'm slicing, she's staring at me. We make eye contact for about a second before she blushes and looks away.

"Sorry."

"Why?" I ask, putting the knife in the sink. "You didn't do anything."

"I know. I think maybe that makes it worse."

I'm not sure what she's talking about—let alone what to say to her—so I drizzle some honey on a piece of Pecorino and offer it to her. I expect her to pluck it out of my grasp, but she doesn't. Instead, she lowers her mouth and eats out of my hand, sucking the honey from my fingers.

Her lips are soft against my skin, and it makes me wonder how her other lips feel. Forget dinner; I want to spread her on the counter in front of me and taste her.

But I don't. I can't handle being rejected by her twice in one week.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

"Yes. In fact, I'd like to try some more, if that's okay with you."

I reach for another piece.

She shakes her head. "I'm not talking about that."

With her eyes on mine, she takes my hand and closes her lips around my index finger. It's not the first time it's been in her mouth—when we cook together, she's always licking sauces from my fingers. Not once have I ever entertained the idea it was about anything other than food. What she's doing now is different, and not just because of the way she's using her tongue. There's a hunger in her eyes I've never seen—one that goes right to my balls.

"You have no idea what this is doing to me."

She releases my finger from her mouth but doesn't let go of my hand. "Then tell me."

I don't care if she thinks of me as her savior—she needs to realize I'm not a saint. Before I can think better of it, I press the palm of her hand against the front of my pants.

I expect her to hit me—given what I just did, I deserve it—but she doesn't. She doesn't even move her hand away.

Instead, she stares at my crotch then slowly raises her eyes to meet mine. "You want me?"

"Yes."

"Even after the way I flipped out last week?"

I nod.

"Seriously? I thought I'd ruined any chance I had with you. Most guys–"

"Good thing I'm a man."

Before she can say anything else, I kiss her. The mechanics aren't much different than they were last week, except this time, I'm not hesitant, nor am I gentle. Despite the fact she's stroking my dick through my pants, I know there's a good chance she's going to change her mind about this. I want to go as far as possible with her before she does. If this makes me an asshole, so be it.

"Carlisle..." she says, moving her lips away from my mouth.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. It's just...Shit, I don't even know how to say this."

As much as I don't want to do it, I move her hand away from my cock and rest it on the counter. Right away, I cover it with my own—who knows the next time I'll be able to touch her.

"I think it would be easier for us to talk if we weren't so distracted."

She lets out a small giggle. "Oh, I'm still plenty distracted. Carlisle..." She pauses, taking a deep breath. "If we do this...I'm just worried things will change between us."

"Izzy, last week I told you I was in love with you. I think it's safe to say they already have."

"I don't want to use you for sex."

I try not to laugh, but I can't help it. "I'll let you in on a little secret—it isn't possible to use a man for sex."

Her cheeks are red as she stares at the floor. "You know what I mean..."

Oh, I know exactly what she means. It's because of Edward, who despite destroying Izzy's self-esteem, somehow made her feel incapable of enjoying life without him—never mind the fact that, by all accounts, she didn't enjoy life _with_ him. I expect this to mean more to me than it does to her, but I can't help my hope that one day that will change.

"...I just don't want..." She throws her head back, sighing. "I don't even know how to say this."

"Okay. Then tell me what you do want."

She looks me in the eye, and though her face is red, her voice is steady.

"I want you to take off my clothes."

Before I'm able to fully process what she said, she's already back-peddling.

"I mean, if you want to..." She looks down at the floor again. "Shit."

I cup her cheek and angle her face so I can see her eyes .

"I want to," I say. "I want _you_."

She shuts her eyes; the muscles in her throat flex as she swallows.

"Okay." Nodding, she averts her gaze.

I've lived with her long enough to know she's nervous.

"Relax, Izzy. It's just me."

"I know—but before you, there was just him."

No wonder she thinks he's the only person she'll ever love—she's never been with anyone else.

I keep my mouth closed as I kiss her. My tongue teases her lower lip before I pull away. As much as I want her, I won't make love to her if she's thinking of someone else.

"And now?" With one hand at the base of her neck, I slide the other under the hem of her t-shirt. My thumb strokes her bare skin above the waistband of her jeans.

"Now?" she asks.

I trail kisses from her cheek to her ear.

"Who are you with now?" I whisper before nipping her earlobe.

Her breathing deepens, and when she speaks, it comes out sounding more like a moan.

"You."

It's exactly what I need to hear. My mouth once again crashes against hers, but it's different from before. Her kiss may be timid, but there's no longer any question she's kissing me back. I take it all in—the smoothness of her skin, the heat of her mouth, the way her lips taste of honey and Pecorino. I'm content to savor her—until she slides her hand inside my pants and squeezes my ass.

_That's it. _I can't wait a second longer to know how she tastes.

I undo her jeans and hook my thumbs inside her underwear, then push both over her hips in a single motion before picking her up and setting her on the kitchen island. Before she can kick them the rest of the way off, I'm on my knees burying my face between her thighs.

Her pussy is hot and wet, and the taste...my god, her _taste_. It's delicately salty, just like she as is. I lick and suck until her thighs tighten around my head; it's not long until her body goes slack. I rise to my feet and take in the vision before me—a post-orgasmic Izzy lying on the kitchen island with her legs spread, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts. Then I realize she's shivering—and not in a good way.

"I'm sorry." I lift her off the island into my arms. "I wasn't thinking about how cold the counter would be."

"You're apologizing for that?" She laughs. "I didn't mind. Fuck, I didn't even notice—at least, not until after...Can I say wow?" Her fingers brush my goatee. "I felt this—you know—_there_."

"Why do you think I have it?"

Her eyes widen. "Really?"

I shake my head. "Now let's get you warm."

Laughing, I carry her to my room and place her in the center of the bed. Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling me down on top of her. I settle between her legs and grab the front of her t-shirt.

"As much of a turn-on as this is for me, it needs to go."

She raises her arms, and I take off her shirt. Before it even hits the floor, she's already crossed her arms over her breasts.

"I've seen them before, you know."

She sighs. "I know, but the context was different. You didn't have to pretend you liked them."

"No, I had to pretend I _didn't_ like them—or at the very least, didn't notice them—until I was back in my room where I could jerk off."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't stop me when I lift her arms from her chest. I could give a shit if her tits are small; I'm about to make love to _her_, not them. Besides, I'm an ass man, and hers is amazing.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she says.

Izzy pulls my shirt over my head while I take off my pants and boxers. Her hands follow her eyes down the front of my chest, stopping where my hair gets darker and thicker before slowly moving back up to my face, which she pulls toward hers. When our lips touch, she pulls away giggling.

"What?" I ask.

"I can taste myself; I wasn't expecting that."

She kisses me again, teasing my mouth with her tongue while I tease her pussy with my cock. A small slip, and I'd be inside her. I've never had sex without a condom and I've never wanted to more than I do right now. It's not like she'd get pregnant; she takes her birth control pills religiously.

For the first time in my life, I wish I were _that _guy—the kind who lets himself get carried away enough not to think of these things or even the kind who'll go in bareback at first, then pull out and put on a condom. But I'll never be _that_ guy because I've always been that guy's mistake.

I move off her reach into my nightstand. Izzy looks confused until she sees the rubber in my hand.

"Oh. You don't have to," she says. "I'm on the pill, and I trust you."

"I've never done it without one."

"I've never done it _with _one. Ed—uh—I was told it doesn't feel good."

"Trust me, Izzy. It's going to feel good." I tear open the package and roll on the condom. When it's in place, I pull her toward me. She straddles my hips and slowly lowers herself onto my dick. Latex or not, I'm still inside her. She's hot and tight and feels better than I ever imagined. She closes her eyes when we start to move, but I can't take mine off her. The look on her face as she takes pleasure from my body, the way her tits bounce, the flexing of her leg muscles. As beautiful as she is, I'd rather feel her than watch her. I pull her toward me and roll us so I'm on top, angling my thrusts so she'll get as much from them as I do. I don't last long, but I make sure Izzy comes first.

It's easy enough. Whether she realizes it or not, I've been doing it for months.

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><p><strong>Fall to Ruin One Day should update next week. <strong>

**Thanks for reading.**


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